The Elusive Bride (20 page)

Gave herself up to the intoxicating heat, to the swirl of her senses, the giddy thud of her pulse.

Wanted—she wanted.

Even as, high on her toes, leaning into him she yielded her
mouth and knowingly taunted him to take, she desperately wanted.

More.

All.

Now.

Here in this room, bathed in moonlight, she wanted him with a certainty that blazed through her veins.

An absolute longing, one she’d never felt before, one far too vibrant, too acute to be questioned.

Her need simply was, just as she was his.

Just as he was hers.

Nothing else mattered. Nothing else held the power to break the compulsion—one she wholeheartedly embraced.

His hands slid, palms burning, over the sensitive skin of her back, the silk a tantalizing, senses-teasing barrier. It whispered of sultry nights, promised heated delights as it shifted over her skin, caressing not just where his hands pressed, but elsewhere, further, sending prickling awareness washing over her.

Sending heat sinking into her. He angled his head and plundered her mouth anew, reclaiming her attention, his tongue sliding heavily over and along hers as, with a blatancy she found impossibly arousing, he feasted.

Hot, heavy, his hands traced her hips, slid down, around, gripped.

He lifted her against him, molded her hips to his. The insubstantial silk did nothing to mute the thrilling male hardness of him, the solid rod of his erection that pressed through his breeches to impress itself against the taut softness of her belly.

With reined deliberation, he shifted against her, an evocative, provocative thrusting that made her fingers curl.

Heat streaked through her, an eruption of sweet warmth that spread beneath her skin, then slid sinuously down to pool low.

To swell. And throb.

On a gasp she broke from the kiss, desperate to breathe,
and caught a glimpse of his face, of the dark fire in his eyes.

Her hands had found his hair, her fingers tangling in the soft locks. Forcing her heavy, passion-weighted lids wider, she stared, oddly aware of her lips hot and swollen, slicked from their kiss, of her harried breathing, of the tightness of her chest.

Of the giddiness of her senses, the yearning in her blood.

Of the need that beat an irresistible tattoo in her veins.

Her eyes searched his, and she saw in the dark depths the heat ease back a notch. Saw rationality and a stubborn, bone-deep honor fight to rise above the heated compulsion, to transcend it and reclaim him.

Yet she stood on the brink. Teetering. So aware…

Of the heat that rose beneath every inch of her skin. That made itself known in the throb of her lips, and even more insistently in the throb of the soft flesh between her thighs.

For the first time she knew, felt, fully experienced the telltale greedy fire that flooded her and made her yearn. That made her body soften, melt. Made it long for a completion she’d never known with a violence that made her ache.

She caught and held his gaze. “Don’t. Stop.” Her tone would have done the begum proud—command, demand, wrapped in sultry, lustful, open greed.

The heat in his eyes flared anew. His chest swelled as he fought—the damned man fought!—to contain it. To suppress it.

But he didn’t succeed.

Every muscle in his large, hard body grew hotter, harder. Forged steel, tempered and scalding, powerful and unyielding.

But if she wanted him tonight, she would have to fight, too.

Fight him—his too-noble nature.

Eyes locked on his, she drew breath—and felt the power within her rise. Sensed, felt, that intangible fire come to her call, felt it well and swell and rise about them.

She didn’t need to think, to look, to wonder. Desire and
passion, lust and need—all were there in the heated compulsion that all but crackled between them, around them.

“I want this.”

He still held her against him. Deliberately, boldly, she pressed closer still.

Felt him react, helpless to resist.

Felt the fire between them surge.

Stretching up, she lifted her face and breathed against his lips, “I want you.” Eyes flicking up, at close quarters she held his gaze. “I need you inside me.”

That and only that would quench the fire they’d lit. With achingly sharp clarity she knew that, and only that, would ease the escalating ache, would feed her hunger and satisfy her craving.

That
that
was what she needed to realize her dreams.

And
that
was what he—stubborn man—needed, too.

His hands hadn’t eased their grip. The arms locked about her hadn’t loosened.

She could sense the battle raging within him. He was still fighting—but he wasn’t winning.

Inwardly smiling, she drew her hands from his hair, framed his face, held it steady as she stretched the last inch, and kissed him.

Voraciously, hungrily, demandingly.

She poured everything, every ounce of temptation, of enticement, of promise, into that kiss.

She held nothing back. She wanted him to stop thinking, desperately wanted him to cease being noble and take her to her bed.

She wanted him. Wanted this.

All. Now. Here.

Gareth heard her message loud and clear. He knew what he was doing, but he wasn’t at all sure she did. Yet what could he do?

Resistance was futile, breaking from her impossible. His arms, his hands, his body, simply would not let her go. Not now, not after she’d made her wishes so abundantly plain.

I want you. I need you inside me.

What man could refuse such a plea?

Certainly not him. Not given it was her.

He wasn’t even sure when he made up his mind—when exactly he surrendered.

Only knew that he had to be where she wanted, that he needed to be sunk deep within her as much as she needed him there.

That need, at least, was singularly clear, as genuine as the clawing demon that was eating him from inside out.

So he broke from the kiss that had become a ravenous, incandescent exchange, swept her up in his arms, and strode to the bed.

Her eyes glittered in the moonlight, her lips parting in a fleeting, satisfied smile as he laid her down.

Resisting the urge to simply follow her down, cover her, rip the flimsy silk away and sheath himself in her, resisting the driving urgency that already pounded through him, he forced himself to straighten and step back from her grasping hands. Standing, he peeled off his coat.

She watched, smiled—another of her soft, secretive, smug smiles of feminine triumph—then sat up, reaching behind her for the buttons of the barely there silk blouse that shimmered over her skin.

“No.”

Surprised by his guttural decree, she glanced up.

“Leave it on—I want to peel it from you.” Stripping off his cravat, he gestured with his chin. “Lie back and let me look at you.”

Let me plan.

Emily met his dark gaze, hesitated as something within her clenched, a primitive reaction to the clear promise skating beneath his words. But…lips lightly curving, she tipped her head his way, and slowly, langorously, relaxed back against the pillows, noting the way his gaze hungrily traveled from her shoulder, to breast, to hip, to thigh as she did.

Her heart was thudding, steady and sure. There was no chance of her cooling, not with his eyes on her.

Not with him swiftly stripping, garment by garment revealing more of the fascinating musculature of his chest and abdomen. Tossing aside his shirt, belt already gone, he unbuttoned the flap of his breeches as he turned and sat on the edge of the bed to remove his boots, giving her the chance to study his back, the long, defined muscles bracketing his spine, the wide heaviness of his shoulders.

Mouth watering, unable to stop herself, she shifted, reached out and touched. He jerked, flung her a dark look, but said nothing. Let her stroke, let her test the incredible resilience of his skin and the steely muscles beneath.

Let her be seduced anew by his heat. He was burning.

One boot hit the floor. Seconds later its mate joined it.

She drew back her hand. Breath bated, mouth abruptly drying, she waited for him to stand and turn.

He didn’t. He rose up, slid his trousers past his hips and sat again to pull them free of his long legs.

She barely had time to register the maneuver before his trousers hit the floor and he turned, and was on her.

Sunk in the bed alongside, propped on one arm, he loomed over her.

She knew why he’d done it. He was now too close for her to see anything beyond the wide expanse of his chest. Naked and delectable though that was, she’d had further expectations.

Eyes narrowing, she opened her mouth to inform him she had three married sisters—

He kissed her. Filled her mouth with the potent taste of him, with power, passion, and promise.

Swept her away—effortlessly—on a tide of rising need, driven by an escalating, clawing sense of urgency.

His hand closed, hard, over one silk-clad breast. Possessively weighed, caressed. His thumb found her nipple and circled, stroked, teased…until she gasped through the kiss, body arching, pressing her flesh more firmly into his demanding hand.

That seemed all the encouragement he needed.

His hand roved her body, heavy, male, flagrantly demanding and commanding, drawing responses from her she’d never known she’d had it in her to give.

She’d thought she’d been heated before.

Now she burned.

Then he broke from the kiss, slid down and bent his head, licked, laved. Silk clung to her breast, to her tightly furled nipple. He drew back enough to see, then bent his head once more—and drew the turgid bud into his mouth.

And suckled.

She shrieked, fought to mute the sound. Fought to ride the wave of sensation he sent crashing through her. He continued to feast, until she was breathless, until she shifted and moaned.

Then his hand slid between her thighs and one blunt fingertip stroked her through the sodden silk covering her there.

She sobbed, clutched his head, holding him to her as she tilted her hips, wordlessly begging.

The blunt fingertip found her entrance and pressed in, just a little, the wet silk an excruciatingly frustrating barrier preventing real touch, deeper penetration.

She wanted…she knew more than enough to know exactly what she wanted.

Freeing one hand from the tangle of his dark hair, she reached down…and found him. Hotter than flesh should be, velvet over steel. Her fingertips reached just far enough to touch, to reverently trace the broad head.

He’d stilled the instant she’d made contact. Stretching, she reached further, curled her fingers and lightly stroked upward.

He shuddered, softly swore, his breath an exhalation washing over her tortured nipple.

Then he moved.

She just managed to stifle a shriek as he rolled, taking her with him so she landed atop him in a flurry of silk. One large hand palmed her head and he dragged it down, dragged her
down into a kiss so rapaciously possessive it literally curled her toes.

His other hand was busy. She only realized when the night air coolly caressed her naked back, then the gauzy blouse parted at the back. His hands helped it slide down her shoulders. She lifted one hand and forearm, then the other, stripped the garment off and flung it away, uncaring of where it landed.

Caring much more about being skin to skin with him, her breasts, full and achingly swollen, brushing, then pressing against the heavy muscles of his chest, her tight nipples tantalizingly abraded by the crisp black hair that adorned it.

She’d barely absorbed that sensation when she felt the tug as the silk harem pants slid down and over her hips.

Expectation leapt; anticipation skittered through her veins.

Nerves tensed, alive to every touch. Waiting as he drew the silk steadily lower, so it no longer screened her belly from his. She held her breath as he shifted, lifting her as he drew the garment down her thighs.

Her mind racing ahead in giddy delight, she remembered the ankle cuffs.

Just as he rolled again, pinning her beneath him.

Hands clutching his arms, she gasped at the sensation of being surrounded, trapped, by hot, hard male, then he kissed her—a forceful, demanding, conquerorlike claiming that left her reeling.

Gareth seized the moment to pull back from her and deal with the cuffs at her ankles, then strip the flimsy harem pants away.

He gave himself only one brief instant to drink in the sight of her lying rumpled and aroused, her rich brown hair disarranged and flung across the pillows, her lids at half mast, her lips swollen and sheening, her body lush and ripe—and all his.

Then he stretched over her and let his body down on hers.
Thrilled to the sensation of firm curves, supple skin, feminine softness cushioning him, the demon within all but slavering with delight.

Small hands braced on his chest. He found her eyes with his as she pressed, wasn’t entirely surprised when she protested, albeit weakly, “I want to see you.”

“Not now.” The reply was a categorical growl. He didn’t think he could stand the torment—not without reacting. Not while maintaining the control necessary to go slowly. He’d stake his life she was a virgin, so slowly was mandatory. Not that he’d had any experience in that precise arena—under his code virgins were not fair game—but so he’d always heard.

Despite her state, her jaw started to firm.

“Later.” Inspired, he added, “Next time.”
Perhaps.

He didn’t wait to see if she agreed, but bent his head and kissed her again.

The heat between them hadn’t waned in the least—now it leapt to life, flames roaring, then escalating rapidly as hands touched and found nothing but hot dewed skin, as he shifted over her, nudging her thighs apart, as she parted them willingly and he settled between.

As she wriggled, accommodating him, then tipping her hips…

He sank into her, had pressed in the first inch even before he’d meant to.

And then there was no holding back.

She was tight. Tight enough to make him shudder. To back the breath up in his chest as he pressed in, and on. As inch by inch he filled her, and her sheath stretched to take him in.